


My Mind Betrays Me

by greyheart



Series: Lost My Hero To Your Renegade [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Guilt, Hurt Dick Grayson, Multi, Obsession, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Slade Wilson, Shock, Sooooooooo possessive, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 11:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyheart/pseuds/greyheart
Summary: As of late, Dick Grayson's life has been hell. His life in Bludhaven destroyed night after night in Blockbuster's mission to break him beyond repair.Slade already tried to break him years ago, he still carries the weight of that time with him. But this time, everything might be too much for the vigilante to process.Where will his mind take him when he finally breaks?





	1. Poison

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Between the Saids and Unsaids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157937) by [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking). 

> This a continuation of WithTheKeyIsKing's Between the Saids and Unsaids. GO READ IT FIRST. It is amazing! It is heavily referenced, so for a full understanding of what is happening, of phrases pulled out of memory, go there first.
> 
> WARNING: Heed the Tags. There is some dark ideology in this. 
> 
> Dick is in shock in this first chapter, so its a bit scattered.

It wasn’t a downpour; just heavy enough to clear the air and make the city glisten. Nightwing enjoyed moments like this...normally.

But now it felt like he was drowning; each drop pushing him to his knees.

He had failed. Blockbuster was dead.

** _All you have to do is get out of the way._ **

He was supposed to help her, instead…

** _BANG!_ **

The air was too thick. All he could taste was blood. His lungs felt like they were coated in gunpowder.

What had he done? How could he just walk away like that?

** _BANG!_ **

His fingers tingled until they disappeared. Everything was cold.

It was never going to stop. Blockbuster knew his identity. Everyone was dying around him. Prison wouldn’t stop him.

** _All you have to do is get out of the way._ **

“...I failed you. I…”

Catalina was there. How could she stand to look at him after what he had done?

She pressed into him, hands on his shoulders, lowering him to the ground. The puddles soaked through his suit.

“Don’t touch me,” his voice felt far away, “I’m…”

“Everything’s alright, baby,” she soothed.

What had he done to her? Instead of helping, he had corrupted her.

“Poisonous...we killed…”

She was on top of him, holding him down, “Quiet, mi Amor Callado.”

She was kissing him.

His hands were on her legs, pushing her away?

The rain was cold against his bare shoulders.

Red-orange light from a billboard outlined her.

“We’re free now.”

He felt trapped. The rain was choking him. Her touch burned.

_ No. _

Dick tried to move, to get away; he couldn’t even feel his arms.

_ Not again. Never again. _

** _So good, little bird._ **

Dick flinched, but it was lost as he shivered.

“No.”

Catalina moaned, “Mi Amor.” She was so hot against him.

The gravel from the roof scraped his skin. All of his skin. His suit was gone.

She moved on top of him, around him; her moans drowning out the rain.

He was hard inside of her.

** _It feels good, doesn’t it?_ **

_ No. _ The word was lost in his throat. All he could do was gasp.

** _You can’t lie to me, little bird. Look at you…_ **

The pressure tightened around him.

** _You’re clearly enjoying yourself._ **

** _That wasn’t enjoyment!_ **

“That’s right, baby, I’ve got you.”

He couldn’t see her anymore.

The rain filled his vision, lit a deep red-orange, like dried blood. It felt like acid.

** _Have you had sex with anyone else? Since me?_ **

Catalina purred in his ear.

** _Their loss._ **

Not again. He didn’t want it. Why wasn’t he moving? Stop her. Don’t let her do this.

** _Oh, you did more than let me..._ **

“I’ll take care of this, Mi Amor.”

He felt the pressure building.

“That’s right, baby.”

** _Some active participation definitely occurred._ **

** _That wasn’t enjoyment!_ **

He shuddered as he came, a flash of pleasure flowing over him.

** _You can’t lie to me, little bird._ **

His suit was pulled over him. A kiss.

“Don’t wait too long, baby.”

She was gone. Gone. It was all gone. The circus, his apartment. They were all dead because of him.

He thought he could handle it himself. And he did. He stopped Blockbuster.

** _BANG!_ **

It was never going to end. Dick had wanted the man dead and now his lifeless body was in the stairwell. HE had wanted it. He didn’t pull the trigger, he’d made Catalina do it for him. Why didn’t he stop her?

Fingers ghosted over his chest and he flinched away.

The rooftop was empty.

He’d said no, right?

She didn’t...no, she didn’t force him. He’d just laid there, letting her…he could have stopped her.

He needed to move, to leave, but everything was so heavy.

He needed to go. Where?

His safe house. But Catalina knew about it. Would she be there waiting for him? Is that what she meant?

His stomach rolled just thinking about seeing her again so soon.

Vaguely, he was aware that he was sitting up, putting his arms through the sleeves of the suit, securing it.

He had nowhere else to go.

Gotham. Bruce.

God, Bruce. He’d never forgive Dick for this.

He broke the code. He hadn’t called the family when he needed them as he’d promised. He was trying to protect them.

He was moving through the night, on another rooftop now.

This was his fault. Bruce would never have let this happen. He wouldn’t have walked away.

But they weren’t here, they didn’t know how bad it had gotten, how hopeless it was.

** _...that none of them could possibly understand you…_ **

Jason. Jason wouldn’t blame him. He had killed so many people but he was still part of the family. They still loved him. It wasn’t his fault. He was tortured, killed, and brought back by the Pit that clouded his eyes green.

What was Dick’s excuse? It was too hard to stand his ground? He just couldn’t care in that moment about human life?

** _...you don’t fit this stupid hero mold you’re forcing yourself into._ **

No. He was a hero. He was trying to be a hero. He was trying. But it wasn’t good enough. All those people were dead and it was his fault.

He couldn’t go to Gotham. They would all know what he had done. They would see him for what he was.

**Poisonous.**

He couldn’t face Bruce. He wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment directed at him. He had failed him again.

Dick had worked so hard to prove himself worthy, but he kept falling short.

Bruce couldn’t take Nightwing from him, not as he had Robin, even though Robin was more his than anyone else’s.

A car backfired and he stumbled, almost falling to the ground.

He had nowhere to go.

** _...I will accept you with open arms._ **

She held his arms at his side as she rocked on top of him.

The city faded around him. He spoke to a few people. Informants? He didn’t remember their faces. His fist tightened around one of their throats until they gave him the address.

He turned off the engine and just sat in the car. It was an ugly brown. The sky was beginning to lighten but only just; the street lights were still on, illuminating the unfamiliar warehouses. They’re small. One has a sign for a carpet cleaning business. He looked down by the steering wheel. No keys. He had hotwired it.

** _BANG!_ **

“Nightwing.”

Dick startles. He’s standing in a large room. It’s one of the warehouses, almost barren save for a few boxes in a corner. The light buzzes overhead and he turns to the voice.

He must be working a job because he’s suited up, helmet in place. The one eye hole is a void of black that draws him in.

** _Someday, you’ll come to me._ **


	2. Someday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if I need to add any more tags.
> 
> Again: Heed the Tags. This is dark.

There were usually too many players in Gotham for Slade to bother with it, so when the boy Robin was finally brought to his attention, he was already a legend himself, much like the Bat. They flew together but Robin took the spotlight in the air, flipping, spinning with a grace the bat would never attain. He was so young yet already so skilled, bringing shame to the criminals they fought.

A plan began to form in his mind.

When the boy was cast out by his mentor, Slade believed the time was right to reveal himself. Robin’s fury was beautiful. It burned bright so soon after his dismissal, he was consumed with the desire to prove himself.

Slade provided him the opportunities, playing with his pride and naivety. 

Up close, he was even more enticing.

He had assumed, once he had the boy in his hands, he would be able to mold him in his own image, much as the Bat had done. But Robin was already a weapon, sharpened and ready. He learned, he adapted, but he did not change. Slade didn’t see it until it was almost too late. In his teachings, he was more successful in some ways than others. Robin never acknowledged the thrill Slade’s lessons brought but the mercenary saw it when the boy’s instincts took over, and because of that denial, Robin never realized the pattern for when Slade gave in to his desires. 

Strength was admirable, defiance, less so. Defiance was met with violence and punishment, but giving in to his anger, the slip into unbridled instinct, that was rewarded. Not that Robin saw it that way. Punishment, reward, they were both the same, and truly, in one way, they were; both were meant to break him down. But Robin was not ready. He would not break. Slade had miscalculated. He had not truly understood Robin when he had first made his plans. The Batman’s influence was too strong. He was too attached to his friends, to his life. He didn’t continue to fight for himself but for those he to whom he was attached. It became clear when the boy would rather die with his teammates than continue with Slade. Through Robin’s eyes, he could see the weapon begin to dull. So he had let his apprentice go.

Before Robin could be shaped he needed to be broken, but Slade couldn't be the one to do it.

How Slade wished he could have seen it when the Batman had taken him in. He was envious of the man, happening upon that broken, angry boy. He had seen the articles, the press praising Wayne’s compassion, drawing parallels between the two orphans. Slade doubted Waye had taken the boy in with the purpose of training him and creating a sidekick. What had Grayson done to change his mind?

The persona of Robin had been a toy at that point, brought out to entertain and awe, but then broken and without that purpose. So the broken toy was reforged into a weapon. One that fits into the Bat’s hands, not Slades’.

Much happened in the seven years after Slade had released his apprentice. Many opportunities for the young man to break, he had come close a few times, but he always came back, seemingly stronger each time. But Slade knew him now, the boy hid them well from the rest of the world, but his master knew the cracks and insecurities were there. Still waiting.

The mercenary had been unaware of exactly who had been called in to assist with his bomb crisis, so it was a pleasant surprise when Nightwing entered the interrogation room. His work rarely brought him in contact with the vigilante himself. He had watched from afar as the boy grew into a man. Seeing him up close for the first time in years, he couldn’t keep the compliment back, nor the feeling of satisfaction when he saw that it had hit its mark.

“Because you owe me.”

What an interesting direction this was taking. Slade decided to play along and see what happened. The back and forth was amusing and he wanted to prolong their time together as much as he could.

“...and then we’re even.” 

Slade laughed out loud at the absurdity of the statement. Surely he didn’t actually believe that was possible? He knew what he had done to that boy. Each moment planned out to teach, but also to hurt, to destroy who he was. With the ideology instilled in him by the Batman, Slade had put him through hell. The only thing he regretted about what was done, was that it hadn’t worked.

And here, that grown boy sat before him and offered...what exactly?

Not forgiveness. It was taking everything Nightwing had not to leap over the table and attack his former master, much to Slade’s delight. No, he clearly could not force himself to forgive, and he would never forget, so…

He was trying to barter away his ability to hate Slade for it. No, that wouldn’t go away so easily. But Nightwing was giving his word. So he wouldn’t bring it up, couldn’t vent his anger, he would have to keep it bottled up while it ate away at him from the inside.

Slade agreed, of course. There was no passing up this opportunity to further break his little bird, and by the young man’s own choices. No one he could blame now but himself.

It was no surprise the boy had revealed little about their time together. All he saw was his own failing, his weaknesses laid bare.

Sharing the apparent secret with everyone watching was the unavoidable next step. It would be too easy to avoid the topic if no one else knew. Had Nightwing expected his silence simply because they were  _ even _ ? The young vigilante had agreed to keep it in the past, not Slade; he had no intention of ever letting this go.

Slade gloried when he was struck, Superman himself there to hold his apprentice back.

His escape held his focus for only as long as was needed, his intentions elsewhere. He knew it was a risk to see Nightwing, he had probably already been warned, but that night was not over, not yet.

They danced together like no time had passed. Instinct and memory drove each strike. His apprentice was faster, stronger...and enjoying himself. Yes, Slade had missed this. They were more evenly matched than they had ever been but his little bird still had much to learn from his master.

Having Nightwing pinned beneath him again was a tempting sight. New scars were littered across his bare skin, his muscles coiled tight; he had only grown more beautiful over the years. And it had been so long since Slade had touched him, felt the heat of his skin, his racing pulse.

Raping the boy was never part of his original plans. He would not hide behind noble intentions, though, it may not have been the plan, but faced with it, the chance to claim a piece of Robin yet untouched, even by the Bat? Slade would not deny himself. 

And, as it turned out, Slade was not simply his first but his only. Only Slade to remember when need overcame him. He could try and imagine himself with others but it would be Slade’s touch that gave substance to the fantasy. The idea pleased him to no end. 

He had not neglected the young man's needs when he had taken him, he had made sure it was enjoyable, if only for a moment. He remembered those moments clearly, bringing Robin closer and closer until they were moving together.

But that was just another thing the young man refused to acknowledge. Studying him in the darkness, Slade was forced to admit that his apprentice was still not ready. The day would come, Slade was certain. Grayson took too much upon himself and Slade vowed he would be there to catch him when his little bird fell.

Life continued, more years passed, but his thoughts would often drift to his little bird. They did meet each other on the battlefield, but not often, usually at some distance. The vigilante’s allies were a protective lot.

He always made sure he kept up to date on Bludhaven. So when he learned of Blockbuster, Slade couldn’t help when a sliver of anticipation began to grow.

The crime lord was dismissed, at first, until his name continued to pop up with Nightwings’, putting a price on the vigilante’s head. Slade didn’t interfere. If his apprentice couldn’t handle the lowlifes and lessor bounty hunters, then he wouldn’t be worth the mercenary's time. Then Haley’s Circus burned, and the sliver ignited. Grayson’s identity was compromised and instead of going for the vigilante’s throat, Blockbuster was uprooting his very foundation. 

At one time Slade had entertained the idea of such an assault; it would surely destroy the young man, but it would also drive him further from Slade’s grasp. It would never be forgiven. But now this malicious plan was playing out before him and it was perfect. 

Slade kept his distance from the city itself. This was not his fight, but hopefully, he could reap some reward from the carnage.

People were dying, an entire apartment building was destroyed; all tied to Grayson. His connections to his life were being severed. And no one was coming to help him. No League, Titans, or even a single bat. The explanation was simple. Everyone he cared about was a target. Grayson was trying to protect them.

Word of another death had barely reached him when Nightwing arrived; suit on, mask in place, but beaten, torn up and limping into the warehouse Slade was working out of. The kid looked awful. Over the last few years, during the more difficult times in Nightwing’s career, Slade had made sure he would be easy for the vigilante to find, only his apprentice, of course, in the hopes of this very outcome, but he was still surprised to see the young man there. His connections in Bludhaven only got information so quickly and he wondered what had happened to bring the young man here.

“Nightwing,” Slade greeted, then frowned behind his mask when the kid startled, looking around the room like he wasn’t sure where he was before he turned his focus to the mercenary.

Slade made a show of assessing the hero before turning away, “If you’ve come for a fight, I’m going to have to turn you down, I like a challenge and you seem barely able to stand.”

There was no quip or snark reply, only an odd silence that had Slade shifting his stance back.

He took a few steps forward, keeping his voice uncaring, somewhat indulgent, as he asked, “Unless there is something else you need?”

Grayson’s breath hitched and he glanced at the door before his shoulders slumped and he looked down.

Slade continued forward until they were only a few steps apart. The vigilante was swaying slightly, something was wrong. Slade wished he could see the kid’s eyes beneath the domino mask; those eyes always gave everything away.

“What are you doing here, little bird? From what I’ve heard, you’re rather busy in Bludhaven with an out of control crime lord.”

Nightwing slowly shook his head, “Blockbuster’s dead,” he admitted, voice hollow, lacking any of his usual energy.

“Is that so?” Slade took another step forward, “Some accident I assume?”

“I killed him.”

Slade stretched his hands out at his side, fighting the urge to move in closer, to corner the young man. Just the idea that his apprentice had killed someone... he held back a shiver of pleasure. No, it couldn’t possibly be that good.

“As promising as that sounds, I find it difficult to believe.”

The vigilante hesitated, “I didn’t stop her.”

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter. He was never going to stop, and I...she told me to move, and I did. I just walked away.”

The kid was beginning to sound frantic now. Like he was trying to convince Slade of his guilt. But he knew his apprentice, the kid wanted absolution, to be told he was wrong, that the death wasn’t on his head. He had come to the wrong person. But that wasn’t surprising. Slade was finally putting it all together now. Grayson was in shock, possibly bordering on a more severe dissociative state. Slade was close enough to see small streaks of red on the kid’s face. The rain hadn't washed all the blood away. Blockbuster was probably killed right next to him. His thoughts were spiraling deeper and deeper. His fear and guilt had prevented him from going to his family. One of the bats could have pulled him out, but Slade-, he smiled under the mask, he was going to hold him under.

“Not the same as pulling the trigger yourself,” he admitted, easily, “but purposefully walking away? How heartless, little bird.” His voice softened, “You didn’t even try to stop her? All you needed to do was stay where you were. Even if she had a clear shot, with your skills, you could have easily stopped her.”

Nightwing flinched, his shoulders hunching.

Interesting. Another step closer. ”And now you’ve sought me out. Normally I would insist on reaching a point in the conversation but as I’ve also just come from killing someone, my schedule is wide open for you.” He hadn’t, but drawing parallels between them could only help this along.

One more step and they were an arm’s length apart.

Slowly, Slade pulled off his mask and set it aside, followed by his gloves, then placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

Grayson tense but didn't pull away.

“You’re not in Bludhaven or Gotham,” he said, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Nightwing finally looked up, of course, he did, he had always been extremely tactile. After the week he had had, there was a good chance he was touch starved. Slade could work with that.

He brought his other hand up and cupped the young man’s face.

Grayson’s hands moved fast, grabbing both of Slade’s arms tight. Then he blinked, his face showing confusion at he looked at his hands, seemingly surprised that he had moved.

That was when Slade’s advanced senses finally noticed the smell. Sweat, copper, and...sex.

Knowing all of the events that had recently taken place in Bludhaven, his apprentice would never have been in the mood for something like that, not when his life was systematically being destroyed; he wouldn’t have allowed someone that close. Someone had touched his bird, had molested or raped him. It had obviously helped to push him over the edge, brought him to where he was now, and Slade was honest enough to admit the feeling of satisfaction about that. But his blood still boiled. Grayson was his. Nightwing. Robin, Red X, Renegade, the name was irrelevant; the boy was his and Slade would kill whoever assumed to take his master’s place with him.

Only when Grayson winced did Slade realize how tight his grip had become and eased his hold. This moment first, he would learn the details later and take his vengeance then.

Slade gave the shoulder a reassuring squeeze before moving his hand to the vigilante’s mask. Nightwing’s breathing sped up but when he made no move to stop him, Slade slowly peeled the mask off.

It was a beautiful sight. This was Slade’s goal all those years ago.

He let the mask drop and rubbed at the kid’s shoulder, pleased when he unconsciously leaned into the touch. 

The boy was shattered.

“Look at me, little bird.”

Grayson looked everywhere else, his breathing growing more erratic.

_ No, he couldn’t crash now. Just a bit further. _

Slade’s grip tightened painfully, fingers pulling at his hair, shaking him, as he ordered, “Look at me.”

Eyes snapped to his face, blown, only thinly rimmed in the vibrant blue.

“Why are you here, little bird?”

“I can’t… I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

“Certainly not to the bat, no, he wouldn’t understand, but there were plenty of motels between Bludhaven and here, numerous places to hide. Yet you came to me.”

Slade softened his grip again, his thumb wiping away a tear.

“Oh, little bird, you see it now, don’t you? You didn’t listen when I warned you. But you understand now. You’ve finally learned the truth.”

The boy’s hands tightened, spasming, as he gave a minute nod.

_ So close. _

“Tell me,” he coaxed, “what have you learned, little bird?”

Grayson’s breath caught as he closed his eyes, whispering, “I’m poison.”

Slade hummed happily, running his fingers through Grayson’s hair, sliding his other hand down from his shoulder, around to the back and pulling the kid flush against him.

“But you can’t poison me, can you, little bird?”

Grayson’s eyes opened, locking onto his for a split second and Slade could see the confirmation there before he pulled him into a kiss.

The young man tensed, pushing against him, but he was obviously too worn out, too lost in his own mind, to put up any real fight. He groaned and Slade deepened the kiss, barely letting the kid breathe.

The mercenary’s hand moved to the clasps at the back of Nightwing’s suit and worked them open.

A jolt ran through the vigilante’s body and his struggles intensified.

As he pulled hard on the Grayson’s hair, exposing his now bare neck, Slade finally released his mouth, moving down, biting and sucking, marking the skin his.

He heard a sobbed, “Slade.” Hands were still pushing at him, feebly trying the break free. Then a whimpered, “No...Slade, please.”

He might be taking this too far, too soon, but he couldn’t let the other claim stand. He would remind his apprentice where he belonged. He moved back to the mouth, swallowing another sob.

Grayson was shaking in his arms as Slade pulled at the suit, freeing more skin to touch. 

He couldn’t seem to get enough. How had he denied himself this for so long? When he freed one of the hands, he pulled back, locking eyes with the young man, as he sucked and scraped his teeth against two of the fingers.

Fresh tear tracks ran along his face, his breathing heavy. He looked hopeless.

_ Almost there. _

“Are you just going to stand there,” Slade challenged, “and let everyone take from you? Or are you finally going to take something back, little bird?”

The unfocused eyes shined clear for an instant, then Renegade’s jaw tightened and he surged forward with a growl, meeting Slade’s mouth violently, teeth clashing, seemingly trying to devour him. It felt like a battle, vicious and exhilarating. 

Slade tasted blood and he laughed.

Renegade’s arms wrapped tightly around Slade, gripping his clothes, pulling hard against them as a desperate, guttural wail, broke out of him.

Slade softened his assault, savoring the feeling of his apprentice clinging to him as he guided their movements. It didn’t matter what the young man said after this, Renegade was his. There was no going back; Slade had planted himself too deeply to be dug out now.

Plans firm in his mind. 

He would never let his little bird go again.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
